Smoke machine clouds announce that shit is about to get real.
The stage is groggy with all the smoke but we can still make out a pair of Puma high-tops. They're navy, well worn and say a great deal about their missing owner: a B-Girl, a dancer of loyalty, a fierce mess of fearlessness and fucked up, incredible talent. Then she's there: Demi Sorono. On stage in a Chicago Bulls jersey, putting on her kicks and the mask of many. Without warning she becomes a gangster, a prankster, a singer... her mother. An all-rounder. A one-woman show doesn't give this woman enough credit.
